


Alternate Thursdays, By Request

by cryogenia



Series: Tumblr Short-Shorts [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anonymous Sex, BDSM, Bukkake, Leather Kink, M/M, Multi, PWP, Public Blow Jobs, Sex Club, do it with the mask on, protective top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryogenia/pseuds/cryogenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a certain club in a certain part of town, where once a month - if you’re very, very lucky - you’ll find something extra special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternate Thursdays, By Request

**Author's Note:**

> Short bite of Stucky PWP for your Monday. Apologies for the inexplicably pretentious voice. (Mama always told me 'never say never' - apparently that also includes 2nd person.)

There’s a certain club in a certain part of town, where once a month - if you’re lucky - you’ll see something very special.

All clubs say as much, of course. Night spots come and go like mayflies, cannibalized comedy clubs turn to strip joints turn to gentrified upper-class hair salons. But in the aftermath of the Incident, most people understand that life is short as ever. There’s little point in denying what you want. So if you’re lucky enough to be invited, you’ll go, and if you’re very, very lucky, you’ll see _them_.

The club is in a sub-basement near where the third worm fell, where a plague of chop shops have started to move in. Bare floors, no windows; maybe once a stock cellar for a hipster bar. They’ll take both your ID and your cell phone at the door, and there’s bouncers everywhere to make sure you don’t have another. Cover fee is tiered based on your membership level, and there are people who think twenty-five dollars is a rip. You will pay the twenty-five dollars. Especially if it’s Thursday night.

They tend to arrive around eight through the private dressing booths. The big one (though they’re both big, there are few couples so unapologetically large) comes in an unassuming package. Big, scruffy lumberjack beard, thick, dark shades that he never takes off. He’s kitted out in distressed jeans and a grey Henley, but you can’t mistake how broad his shoulders are. Like a bodybuilder, or a swimmer. When he moves, you see his entire body ripple. And the other one -

_ Oh, the other one. _

His sub has a serious leather kink, head to toe always in breathtaking gear. There is custom work, and then there are these pieces that look like they were molded to his skin. His pants lace up on corset strings and prayers, held together not by seams but by criss-crossing X’s all the way up both sides of his legs. The crop top is a biker fetishest’s wet dream, long padded sleeves and moto gloves and straps that buckle over and over his thick chest. It ends high so you can see his abs, the deep plunge of his Adonis belt. His top leads him on the floor and he knows he’s on display; you can tell it from the power in his strut. His whole face is obscured by a muzzle, thick goggles and a face plate, but sometimes you hear him whispering faintly to his lover.

(Once, a site sitter asked him about the scars. He shook his head at his dom and said only, “not from him”.)

They only come on Thursdays, and they only come for jack night, and only if you follow the rules. Everybody takes a shower. Wear a barrier if you want a suck. Nobody touches the sub without his top’s express permission. Sometimes they hold back if there’s a new face. The top sprawls out on a side couch and merely watches all the other people jacking it in a circle. His sub sits right by him patiently on the floor, watching the proceeds with laser intensity.

The top will sit there half an hour at a time, until he decides for whatever reason he likes what he sees. When he peels the sub’s right glove off, that’s the signal. The sub arches off the floor like his body is made of liquid, and the group always opens to let them in.

The top folds a white handkerchief into the palm of his sub’s left hand, and the sub goes down on his knees in front of whoever’s interested. He’ll never touch you with that hanky hand, and if he drops it, the show’s over. His top will nudge you away and wrap his whole ridiculous body around his partner and whisper things in private until they can get up and leave. But on most nights, he waves that ‘chief like a matador’s cape - come and get it, bulls.

And then you’ll find out why he always draws a crowd, even though he never takes it off and he only uses his mouth and one hand. He doesn’t need more. His top unhooks the lower half of that mask and he will suck you like he was born for your body. His hand is huge and callused and powerful, and he can work two people at once. There is little he won’t do; he likes it when you grab the back of his head and fuck his face. If you have a clit, he dives in until his whole face is slick with spit. Sometimes he’ll take you to the floor, and if you ask real nice, he’ll eat you out until you shake.

Most people try to hold out, though. You’ll want to, because if you wait, that’s when he starts to get really desperate. He goes around the circle faster and faster, working his hips like he wants to drive them through the floor. When both his left hand and his right start to shake, though, that is the sign that you can finally come - all over his frantic, fucked-out face. His top will get up behind him and snap the muzzle shut, and then it’s anywhere you please. He takes it from the entire circle at once, on his back, his face, his hair. Paint up his fancy leather; he just spreads himself out more.

That’s when you see why he wears the goggles, his cheeks and hair will be covered and he just tilts his face for the next person to mark him more. He gets to where you can hear him begging, and that’s when his top will finally step in, grab him by the hips. The top will undo the lacing on both sides just far enough to roll the pants down, and (you’ll see) they come prepared. That hipster lumberjack is hung like a horse, but he slides in on one nice smooth stroke, and his boy howls like it’s the best thing he’s ever taken. Sometimes the top presses his sub flat and shields him with his body and that’s how you know the public scene is done, but other times, if you’re lucky,  the top will pull his boy to sit up against his chest, and they will take face shots all over again. Both of them, while they fuck hard and fast, and the sub cannot stop writhing when the beard scrapes his skin.

The way they sound when they come is like nothing you have ever heard.

Then, if you’re still with it after such an intense scene, you can watch as they come down wrapped in each other’s arms. The top will ask for a warm towel (in a deep growl that will get you hot all over again, if you still have energy left to give). He wraps his partner up like something precious and cradles him close. When he stands to take them both to the showers, he lifts his sub with him as though he weighs nothing. And sometimes, if you’re the luckiest of all, you catch a glimpse just before they slip into the showers, free from everything save for their smiles.

They don’t come every Thursday night.

Sometimes they’re out saving the world.

But there’s a certain club where - if you’re very, very lucky - you can give some of our finest the thanks they deserve.


End file.
